


beginning of an end

by brooke (thekelpiequeen)



Category: Guild Wars 2 (Video Game)
Genre: Drabble Collection, Drabble Sequence, Flashbacks, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Nightmares, Trauma, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-13
Updated: 2017-07-12
Packaged: 2018-12-01 11:26:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11485419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thekelpiequeen/pseuds/brooke
Summary: A collection of standalone drabbles centered around my GW2 roleplay character, Caradoc.Not in any sort of order. Will be updated spontaneously. See tags for warnings.





	1. 48th of Zephyr, 1330

It was dark.

  
  
He was alone.

 

Backed into a distant corner of an abandoned alleyway, enclosed on all sides by aging brick walls, there was no refuge to be found above or below. It was late. The streets of Divinity’s Reach were empty. The dim light from the nearest street lamp flickered, dimmed- and died.  
  
Caradoc could still  _feel_  strong hands locked around his throat, wringing the life out of him. The desperate hunger in his chest, starved for just one breath of air. The sharp point of a knife pressed to his chest, poised to rear back and strike him again and again- carving deep grooves into his ashy-gray bark.  
  
Two sets of eyes observed from the darkness. Two silhouettes circled him playfully, their features scarcely visible from the shadows they cloaked themselves in. From behind one attacker came a low, delighted chuckle from the other, and a separate, jagged scream- was that  _his_  voice?

  
  
Caradoc didn’t know. Couldn’t know.

_“Where are your friends?”_

  
The question buzzed in his skull, lingering there expectantly. Demanding an answer. Caradoc shook his head. A scorching-hot sort of pain curled itself around his spine and  _burned_  there, until his knees buckled and he fell. Black dots gathered at the corners of his vision. The fingers of one trembling hand traced a path down his chest, and came back sap-stained. Fuck.  
 

_“They left you. They left you here with me.”_

  
The pinpricks of light multiplied; four, ten, twenty. Too many to count. A crowd of hundreds, now- a swirl of uproarious laughter, echoing off the endless, unclimbable walls of the alleyway and pressing into him a dark, unbearable empathy. Caradoc crumpled from the sheer weight of it all. The buzzing voice was relentless -  _(“They’re gone,”)_  - a deafening noise -  _(“They’ve gone; you’re alone,”)_  - he clawed at his ears now, desperate for reprieve in any form; forgiveness, mercy, death. Anything at all.  
  
Something grabbed a branch and yanked backwards, forcing his head up. The darkness wavered and parted, revealing blurry, indiscernible images of a figure in front of him. Flashes of color- blue, gold- what was it? Who?

  
  
_“They will always leave you.”_  She smiled--

 

  
Caradoc woke up.

 

* * *

 

“--aUGH-” The hoarse scream cut off as Caradoc jolted upright at his desk, scrambling up and away, taking in massive gulps of air as if his life depended on it. There was no response to the commotion, save for the distant rumble of flowing water-  
  
Waterfalls.  
  
The Guild Hall.  
  
Safety.  
  
Caradoc blinked once, twice, and his world seemed to steady. With a tired sigh, he released the death-grip on the table’s edges - he hadn’t noticed - and wearily scrubbed at his face with his hands. When his eyes opened again, the picture was clear. His workspace was still the same chaotic mess, scattered with books and papers, empty wrappers and dull arrowheads, yet to be sharped. The usual.  
  
Wax had begun to pool on the table, from a candle that was certainly much taller before he’d gone and fallen asleep on accident. Caradoc scowled at the newest mess and leaned back in his chair, searching for a cloth of some kind- ...  
  
His gaze caught and lingered on the open satchel by his feet. Atop it, a few corked glass vials glimmered temptingly in the candlelight. He stretched an arm out to grab the nearest one, and held it closer to the light. Its contents: an unlabeled, powdery white substance, filled up to the fourth groove etched into the glass. Caradoc hummed thoughtfully as he twirled the vial between two fingers, trying to recall an older memory.

  
_“You don’t have to take it-”_  Soilleag’s voice echoed in his thoughts,  _“-but it might help. It’s just willow bark, but it’s easier to sleep when you aren’t hurting, isn’t it?”_

  
Caradoc reached for a glass of water tucked between two books. Stale, by now. Lukewarm. But it would do. He had made up his mind. In one fluid movement, he uncorked the vial and dumped a generous half- maybe more- of its contents into the glass. The near-empty vial was forgotten now; tossed aside, as he stirred the mixture with his finger…  
  
And chugged it all, in one swig.

  
  
Caradoc propped his head up with his hands, patiently waiting. Smiling to himself in an odd, victorious sort of way.

Maybe it would be a shorter night than he thought.

 

 

The candle went out.


	2. 80th of Zephyr, 1330

The infirmary was beginning to feel like prison.  
  
Late at night, tucked away in a bed not quite designed for two, Caradoc lied on his back and stared up at the ceiling with a vengeance. A multicolored cube twisted and spun in his hands, over and over. It was a gift from Faelan; some puzzle from the Reach. One that was bound to break under the Nightbloom’s restless fidgeting.  
  
It was torture to stay trapped in one place for so long. ‘Like a fish in a bowl’, he’d told Soilleag. Bedbound, with no way to stretch his legs and no way to catch even the tiniest glimpse of sky, Caradoc could almost  _feel_  his sanity being siphoned away. Or perhaps it was the constant activity getting to him; the hustle and bustle of visitors, the inescapable chatter and prying eyes all fixed on him, the endless cycle of smalltalk, well-wishes, questions, answers- or none.  
  
Each time, panic swelled in the back of his throat. With every visit, they all expected something different from him- something more- and he was unable to provide. He could feel the unspoken disappointment behind their pitying stares. The shame and guilt tore into him every time; it was almost as painful as the physical wounds.  
  
But what else was there to say? Countless testaments to his weakness and failure were written all over his body, clear as day. Names, faces, locations; what purpose would those serve? How could one identify each vicious wasp, when they all struck as one swarming hive? All useless; the unity of the court made it so. No wonder the Duchess had chosen that name.  
  
Regardless. It was his fault. The darkness had sought him out, first- then to Pyxis and Faelan, by proxy. And now to Soilleag. He was like some wretched poison, staining every good thing he touched. The Nightmare pursued still, closer on his heels than ever before, and all Caradoc could do was  _run_. Never fast enough to spare his friends. Never fast enough to change the outcome.  
  
Why had he dared to slow down,  _knowing_  what it would cost?  
How many more lessons would it take to learn- how much more sap on his hands?

 

_“Let me ask you something- has she seen your vanishing act, yet?”_

  
(The sting of Pyxis’ words raced through his mind on loop, their conversation only a few days prior. Pyxis had known. How had she known?)  
  
 

_“-Just- have you ever, in your entire life, stopped to think about what you do to people? How it looks? Have you ever stopped to think about how you hurt people? Because that’s what you do, you know! Faelan and Keelie- me. Do you care?”_

  
  
The cube clicked and spun, echoing across the walls of the otherwise-silent infirmary. In the dim lighting, Caradoc’s gaze was stubbornly fixed on the ceiling above. Nights were always the worst. Soilleag was asleep - one small blessing - curled up by his side and catching what little rest she could with her own new nightmares to face. Nightmares Caradoc had tangled her up with. Poison, poison, poison. She deserved so much more.  
  
  


_“-You know what isn't fair, Caradoc? Wondering if our illustrious leader was bleeding out in some ditch the night after the attack. If he would come back, why he'd run off, if the courtiers were back and took him- it's not fair to leave your team thinking they've done something wrong when it's you and your- your cowardice!”_

  
  
Caradoc’s hands wavered - unseen, in the darkness - and he faltered with one, two shaky breaths. Tears welled up in the corner of his eyes, threatening to spill.. but he couldn’t start crying now, or it would never stop. In a silent battle on his bed, the Nightbloom’s thoughts roared with a pain that couldn’t be ignored; there was nowhere to run. No way to slink off and shove it all back down, in isolation. It was all coming undone now. Every stupid mistake, every selfish, cowardly choice, every cruel word- and every subsequent slice of the courtiers’ blades, for his troubles.  
  
  
He’d fucked it all up  _again._  
  


( _“Don't do what you do to her,”_  Pyxis had warned him, _“Do better.”_ )

  
  
The wooden puzzle cube clattered to the floor- and with it, Caradoc’s strength. One trembling hand smacked over his mouth, muffling a sob, and he shook.

**Author's Note:**

> this boy is a mess and i'm sorry
> 
> you can also contact me at my gw2 sideblog, brxkencaladbolg.


End file.
